


Can I Have A Word

by LordessMeep



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: :blobteefs:, Attempt at writing Rimming, Dorks in Love, I tried for you Shabba, Iwaizumi Puts Up With Him Anyway, Locker Rooms, M/M, My PWPs can't stay PWPs, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru, They talk too much, oikawa is thirsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 09:25:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordessMeep/pseuds/LordessMeep
Summary: Iwaizumi presses the words against Tooru’s throat, utterly unmoved by Tooru’s valiant attempts at undressing them both and he keeps him pinned against the lockers easily.“You do realize that your entire team knows what we’re doing in here?”





	Can I Have A Word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaapi_writer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaapi_writer/gifts).



> To Shabba for her birthday, but for also putting up with my flaky ass, for being the best mom friend one could ever ask for and for being an all-rounder MVP all day, everyday. For you, I tried - even though it's not exactly a top Iwaizumi, nor is it exactly as porny as you'd like it to be, but it's literally the only non-angsty thing I've written all of this week and last. xD
> 
> It's not the best, but I hope you find something you like. <3
> 
> Title comes from Capsule's ["Can I Have a Word"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bamvg4Icmi0).

*

Iwaizumi presses the words against Tooru’s throat, utterly unmoved by Tooru’s valiant attempts at undressing them both and he keeps him pinned against the lockers easily, “You do realize that your entire _team_ knows what we’re doing in here?”

Tooru rolls his eyes – he always gets impatient after a match, the adrenalin still rushing in his blood and it’s so, _so_ much worse when Iwaizumi is involved. It’s another matter that he’s _always_ involved, but that’s neither here nor there. When he replies, his tone is flippant and just left of annoyed.

“Or they would if you could actually _do_ something here, Iwa-chan,”

Iwaizumi laughs, the warm puff of breath tickling Tooru’s skin and _god_ , he hates it when Iwaizumi gets like this – too patient when Tooru hasn’t any at all.

“You actually made them leave, didn’t you?” he murmurs, deeply amused, and he nips at the edge of Tooru’s jaw, “Used your fucking authority as captain and everything-”

Tooru doesn’t open his mouth to confirm what Iwaizumi already knows, doesn’t really think about the way Bokuto had whistled and waggled his eyebrows, the way Tobio’s face had taken on a scandalized look and, worse, the way Ushijima hadn’t even been surprised, choosing instead to calmly heft his bag and leave with a blunt _And remember to lock the doors this time_ thrown over his shoulder _._

One of these days, Tooru swears he’ll murder him in cold blood.

At the extended silence, Iwaizumi draws back to look up at him, reading his face, and he bites down on his lip, eyes shining in mirth.

“Oh my god,” his shoulders shake when he laughs, tucking his face in Tooru’s nape, “They actually _know_ , don’t they?”

Tooru can’t help but bristle. “What I don’t get is _why_ you’re talking about my fucking _team_ at a time like this.”

“Like this?” he parrots, drawing back to cock an eyebrow at Tooru, one corner of his mouth curving up, “Like what exactly?”

There’s a part of Tooru that wants to scream all of a sudden.

“Why are you _like_ this?” He goes and it comes out whinier than he intends for it to.

Iwaizumi doesn’t miss a beat, “Well I could ask you the same, but you don’t hear me complaining.”

“You- just-” Tooru looks up at the tiled ceiling for a brief moment, aware that he’s wearing a moue of annoyance, “Ugh. Do you want me to beg? Is that what this is about?”

“Are you offering, Tooru?” Iwaizumi grins, something sharp and cocky and Tooru would be rolling his eyes if anyone else in the world would try something like this on him. But, because it’s Iwaizumi, he simply feels that smile go straight to his cock, and _fuck_ , he’s been like this for what feels like _ages_.

“ _Do_ something,” he urges, unhelpful and just a shade desperate.

“You’re going to have to elaborate,” Iwaizumi replies, utterly unfazed, dealing with it like he deals with Tooru’s many tantrums, “Because I could _also_ go back home and we could do this in our bedroom, like normal, civilized people and _not_ -”

A noise of impatience is ripped from Tooru’s throat without his permission. He would be embarrassed – he _should_ be embarrassed – but, unfortunately, all his mental agency seems to belong in his pants when Iwaizumi is involved.

The soft laugh Iwaizumi exhales is quickly restrained, but Tooru doesn’t miss the glimpse of the dimple on one cheek, the way it gets when he’s trying to keep himself from looking too amused – Tooru’s best kept secret, if he’s being perfectly honest.

“ _Cute_ ,” Iwaizumi’s voice has a smile in it and Tooru can feel his cheeks heat at the endearment. He misses it sometimes, back when Tooru could say these things to Iwaizumi and make him flustered with far too much ease. He doesn’t know when Iwaizumi had learned to turn the tables – rather, understood exactly how easily he could crawl under Tooru’s skin, exactly how stupidly _weak_ Tooru was to him.

Case in point – the final rally of today’s match, the first win for Japan under Tooru’s fledgling captaincy, and Tooru had turned his face up to the bleachers right after Bokuto had smashed the ball Tooru had tossed to him, right down the center, and there had been Iwaizumi, flushed and grinning and all too bright; Tooru’s eyes automatically drawn to him as if a beacon were guiding him.

And then he’d thought about his first win as the Aoba Jousai captain, thought about how proud Iwaizumi had looked _then_ , and he was suddenly hit with nostalgia because he can recall the debate all too well – _So, doesn’t my stellar performance warrant a kiss, Iwa-chan_?

Except, well, he hadn’t posed the question – not seriously anyway – and Iwaizumi had simply given him that look back then, like Tooru was being exceptionally insufferable, after which he had promptly stormed off without a word.

Tooru swallows, aware of the way Iwaizumi watches him, all kinds of patient.

“So, doesn’t my _stellar_ performance warrant a kiss, Iwa-chan?” he echoes, hating the way it comes out unfortunately shaky, and hating it even _more_ when Iwaizumi outright laughs in response.

“I don’t know _why_ ,” Iwaizumi tilts his face up to look at Tooru – and Tooru, wisely, doesn’t comment on the way Iwaizumi needed to get on his tiptoes; he’s not _that_ much of an idiot, “But your dumbass lines work on me _every fucking time_.”

Tooru doesn’t need a reprisal, but he flushes at the memory anyway – because he remembers Iwaizumi admitting that he’d walked away not because he hadn’t wanted to comply with Tooru’s flippant request, but because he _had_.

Instead, his breath hitches when he realizes that Iwaizumi’s leaning in, and his breath is hot on Tooru’s skin.

“You must have the _worst_ taste,” Tooru says, because his incessant need to get the last word in, even after all these _years_ , is still alive and well.

And, because Iwaizumi’s is too, the next words are murmured right against Tooru’s lips, “The very worst,”

The groan Tooru makes at the contact is wholly undignified, and there’s a sense of _My God, finally_ to it. The match must’ve ended at least a half hour ago and, if Tooru’s being completely honest, he’s been mentally planning this since somewhere in the ballpark of thirty minutes into their final set, weighing the pros and cons and wondering exactly how compliant Iwaizumi would be – despite the fact that this isn’t the first time he’s asked for this (or the last, if Tooru is being perfectly honest).

This is what it would be like, he thinks, feeling the cool metal of the lockers shock his skin from where his jersey had ridden up in the back – this is what it would’ve been like had Iwaizumi chosen to go pro and stayed here, with him, ready to take on the world together. He curses the route he _had_ taken – coaching an all-girls’ team at Waseda high, a mere subway ride away from their Sendagaya apartment, and the less that is said about the way some of his protégés looked at him, the better. Tooru would’ve thought that he’d gotten over being jealous of high school girls, but this clearly wasn’t the case.

He’s not sure if it will ever stop being a marvel, kissing Iwaizumi. It goes like this – lips brushed softly against his own, experimental and testing the waters, testing Tooru’s willingness, always cautious at first, and then he cups Tooru’s jaw once he’s satisfied, turns his head to fit their mouths better, dragging his teeth against Tooru’s bottom lip.

There’s a noise like a whine that Tooru exhales, opening up almost immediately, because he wants this – he _always_ wants this, without exception; and the urge hasn’t dwindled the slightest bit over all these years – and Iwaizumi’s laugh vibrates against their lips.

“Eager,” Iwaizumi says and not _Jesus, stop being so goddamned impatient, Shittykawa_ like he would otherwise _._

“You have _no_ idea,” Tooru gasps out between breaths, and, _Christ_ , Iwaizumi does that thing with his tongue, licking at the roof of Tooru’s mouth, tracing out the ridges.

“I have _some_ idea,” Iwaizumi replies, drawing back to brush his lips at the corner of Tooru’s mouth, soft and fleeting, “I could swear you had the press to address after the match…”

Which, is actually true, and it’d taken all of Tooru’s charms to make them all leave, wrapping the win up in a couple of choice words before flouncing off, praying that no one could actually tell how hard he was trying to keep his burgeoning arousal at bay.

He doesn’t reply, choosing to card his fingers through Iwaizumi’s short hair, still just the slightest bit damp from a shower he’d probably taken before rushing to the gyms to sit through the final set. When he hauls him back on his mouth, Iwaizumi slips just the slightest bit, just a little too eager and willing, but Tooru’s too wanting to tease.

Iwaizumi’s fingers come up to hold Tooru’s face, one calloused thumb stroking the edge of his jaw when he presses his tongue to Tooru’s, and it’s thorough and slow and – best of all – _easy_. Iwaizumi’s always been easy, even when they’d been twenty and stupid and drunk that first time, and Tooru had blurted out - something brilliant in its recklessness - that he’d spent years comparing every single person he’d dated to Iwaizumi. That’s when Iwaizumi – part impatient, part exasperated, and absolutely _done_ with Tooru’s shit – had pressed him back into his futon and wrecked him, ruined him for anyone else.

“You know,” Iwaizumi pulls back, urging Tooru to tilt his head up with the slightest push of his hand, his lips now hovering over a spot behind Tooru’s ear, something heavily suggestive in his tone, “You never mentioned _where_ you wanted me to kiss you.”

“You-” The hitch of Tooru’s breath is sharp and shocked, “Who on earth taught you to _talk_ like that, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi hums, nonchalant, pressing his mouth to Tooru’s skin, lips brushing when he murmurs. “Must be the company I keep these days,”

“You should get rid of them,” Tooru shoots back, his fingers curling in tighter into Iwaizumi’s hair when his teeth bite in almost gently, the pressure steadily escalating.

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi says, “He’s like a goddamned pest; hasn’t left me alone since we were kids,”

“I’m not a _pest_ -”

“Well,” Iwaizumi leans back to look up at Tooru, his eyes soft and fond and so, _so_ happy, it makes Tooru’s heart stutter in his chest, “A hard habit to break then,”

Tooru will hold him to that, he thinks, but the thought dissipates when Iwaizumi lowers himself, dropping down to his knees. That look in his face – something coy and teasing – it makes Tooru’s stomach flip slowly. He files it away for later; he’ll think about it during the away matches, when he’s off to another country for weeks on end, and his hand is the best that he has to work with; barring the too frequent Skype calls and Iwaizumi, all sleep-rumpled and annoyed and wearing those stupidly attractive glasses of his – not because his eyesight was bad; he just wore those when working on the computer – slowly killing him even all the way from across the world.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi calls, his short nails scratching over Tooru’s abdomen when his fingers curl into the waistband of Tooru’s athletic shorts, pulling them down and over Tooru’s cock, looking up at Tooru with those pretty eyes – because it’s true, because no one can convince Tooru otherwise – the twist of his lips amused, “You never mentioned _where_ ,”

Tooru doesn’t answer – he really can’t, not when Iwaizumi tugs down his shorts and lets them pool around Tooru’s ankles, then promptly presses forward, making Tooru’s breath catch when his lips run over the inside of one thigh, barely inches away from where Tooru would much rather have them.

“Iwa- _chan_ ,” Tooru whines when Iwaizumi bites into a spot that is still tender, still healing from the last time Iwaizumi had done this – splayed him out on bed and outlined exactly how much he loved Tooru’s legs, without any words necessary; his mouth and fingers and tongue and teeth doing all the talking for him.

“You didn’t answer,” Iwaizumi tosses back, laving his tongue over the spot he’d just bitten into, making Tooru almost want to cry, “Does that mean I can do what I like?”

“Do _what_?” Tooru asks, and he both hates it and loves it when Iwaizumi pushes him to the edge, but leaves him dangling near the end, not quite there.

In response, Iwaizumi grabs him on either side.

“Turn around,” he says and, _fuck_ , it’s the way he says it that makes Tooru’s cock twitch where it curves up into his belly.

“You’re _filthy_ ,” Tooru sees it fit to respond. Iwaizumi, of course, only laughs.

“I blame you for everything,” he replies and then he sighs, appreciative, hands coming to curve over Tooru’s ass is, rubbing and pulling, “Have I told you how amazing your ass is?”

“Not _today_ ,” Tooru says, breathless and suddenly glad that his reddening face is pressed into the curve of his elbow, arm leaning against the locker, and it earns him a playful tap against his side.

“Asshole,” Iwaizumi throws back, the curse too affectionate to be effective.

“Do you _really_ want me to answer that, Iwa-chan-”

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi’s smile is evident, even though Tooru isn’t looking at him, “I love you, I really do, but you need to shut the fuck up.”

Tooru licks his lips, contemplative, despite the fact that the risk/reward ratio is sufficiently in his favor.

“ _Make me_ ,” he exhales, not even a semblance of defiance in his voice – it’s a plea if anything – and Iwaizumi, thankfully, complies; without a rejoinder even.

One of these days, Tooru thinks, he’ll sound less desperate when Iwaizumi does this – this being spreading his cheeks wide and leaning in to lick at his crease, unsubtle and deliberate. Maybe his breath won’t catch, maybe he won’t groan out an approximation of Iwaizumi’s name, maybe he won’t clench his fists so tight, and feel so wanting.

Iwaizumi does it again, and then again, his fingers tensing and digging into the flesh of Tooru’s ass, and the tip of Iwaizumi’s tongue slips in all too quickly, before Tooru can even voice his demand. He holds him wide and open and Tooru swears, the heat flaring just behind his navel, the slide of Iwaizumi’s tongue his only anchoring point. He jerks at every touch, making sounds that are utterly embarrassing, sounds that make his face grow hot and the sensations raise the hairs at the back of his neck.

His legs are shaking, he realizes belatedly when Iwaizumi’s arms hold him up, every brush of his infuriating tongue bringing him closer but not quite _there._ Iwaizumi’s fucking him with his tongue and – _God_ – the way Iwaizumi’s fingers clenching on his hips, the way the heat flares and spreads on Tooru’s skin and he’s barely aware of the way he unconsciously spreads his legs.

“Hajime,” Tooru finds himself moaning, _begging_ , “ _Please_ ,”

Iwaizumi doesn’t let up – he recognizes Tooru’s limits, knows them like the back of his hand – and he’s barely fazed by the way Tooru’s breath comes out in pants, how he feels boneless, like he’s spent hours serving on the court and not just a result of _Iwaizumi_.

He draws back, swirling his tongue over the rim once before going back in, deeper, sealing his mouth over him, and Tooru feels like he’s going to die like, a mixed up mess of want and anticipation.

And then, Iwaizumi curls one hand over Tooru’s hard cock, making him almost yelp at the sensation, the press of Iwaizumi’s thumb over the damp head, stroking the slit. Tooru shudders, nerves tingling with every touch of Iwaizumi’s fingers and he never, never, _never_ wants to get used to this.

Iwaizumi tugs at him, each stroke finishing with a twist near the end, and Tooru wants to come with Iwaizumi’s cock pressed inside him, but he’s too far gone. His toes curl in his shoes – and a detached part of his mind realizes that he’s still mostly dressed, oh _God_ – his body convulsing and Tooru presses his face in his arm, trying to keep his incoherent swears in and quiet as he comes, spilling all over Iwaizumi’s fingers and probably getting some on the locker in front of him.

The same detached part of his brain prays that the locker wasn’t Sakusa’s.

Iwaizumi pulls back, then gets to his feet, and it takes a while for Tooru to catch his breath, to keep the spots from dancing behind his eyes.

“Did you-” he asks, his voice hoarse, and he looks over his shoulder at Iwaizumi, catching him just as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Wrecked, Tooru thinks, is a good look on Iwaizumi – skin flushed and hair ruffled in the back, mouth wet and the bulge in his jeans prominent. Tooru’s spent cock – the traitorous thing – gives a hopeful twitch at the sight.

Iwaizumi though, one corner of his mouth curves up.

“I blame you for this,” he says, and Tooru’s eyes are fixed on the telling dimple on his cheek.

Tooru clears his throat, “Blame me in the shower-”

“At _home_ ,”

“ _After_ the showers-”

“-which, knowing you, will take fucking _ages_ -”

And, even though he protests, Iwaizumi doesn’t pull away when Tooru kicks off his shoes, toes off his socks and shorts, then grabs Iwaizumi’s hand to drag him in the direction of the showers.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Tooru wheedles, and Iwaizumi makes a sigh, relenting.

“You’d better,” he says and Tooru happily, does.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ


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